Spacial Empathy & Intimate Distance
by Scythling
Summary: After GoS. Holmes' return has left Watson feeling conflicted. Holmes/Watson Watson/Mary.


**My first Holmes/Watson fic. This follows on from the second film A Game of Shadows. Many thanks to Myrmidryad for beta reading and your endless advice ;)**

_~ I always thought I'd end up here alone. Somehow the world has changed and I've come home ~_

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><p>Holmes sniffed enthusiastically as he climbed through the window of his own flat, noting the keen, familiar aroma of musty tomes, tobacco and spilt wine, even through the hood of his ingenious urban camouflage.<p>

He looked about the place as he brushed himself off. It seemed his flat had been relatively untouched, perhaps for a few sheets piled haphazardly on the bookshelf. Holmes admitted he had been worried that his worldly possessions had been left at the mercy of Mrs Hudson when he had spied none of his possessions at Mr and Mrs Watson's house. He also noted that several potted exotic plants were missing, the goat too; the latter he minded less, but he knew Mrs Hudson had left the snake. She had out-and-out refused to go near Thaddeus, although Holmes admitted that the snake had a certain chancy appeal that the goat and Watson's plump Gladstone were in short supply of.

_Ah, Watson_. Holmes smirked to himself as he silently began to change, tossing the urban camouflage onto his high back armchair and toppling over a tower of papers.

He had always suspected Watson of sentimentalism, but had never expected such a gloriously touching eulogy from the dear Doctor. Two months after his supposed funeral, Holmes tutted to himself. Well, it was the thought that counts.

The smirk grew more defined as Holmes mentally revised the script from the typewriter, imagining in vivid detail the exact moment when Watson would pause in his joyful discovery of his continued existence to acknowledge the neat little question mark that indicated that the subject was all too aware of the maudlin tribute to his memory.

Now suitably dressed in a crumpled, albeit reasonably fresh linen shirt and pinstriped grey trousers, Holmes located his silk cravat and waistcoat on the faded carpet under the dining table. A brief glance at the askew clock on the wall above his desk told him he had less than two minutes.

If his memory continued to serve him perfectly, Holmes knew that his partner's curiously sentimental mind would compel him to head straight to Baker Street, provided his loving wife had not gagged and bound him, first class to Brighton. His mouth twitched in anticipation and at the thought of a trussed up Watson.

Estimating he had less than a minute now, he left the window open, preferring not to witness Watson's imminent arrival, and flew from the room and into his study, pointedly avoiding the photography of Moriarty and snapping several red web strings as he ripped open the drawers in his study in search of a pipe and the sock in which he kept his tobacco.

As he struck the match, the heavy door to 221B Baker Street slammed shut with a resounding "HOLMES!"

Doctor Watson had arrived. Holmes hurriedly took a few puffs from his pipes before reaching for a prop, his well-worn violin. Before fleeing the room, Holmes reached out and ripped the photograph of his thankfully deceased nemesis from the wall. He took a moment to savour the _twang _of the snapping red web of the late Professor Moriarty.

"Holmes? Where are you, you bastard?" Footsteps far too fast and heavy for a pleasant mood counted the few seconds he had left.

Almost gleefully, Holmes rushed to the window again, leaving swirling papers in his wake, and then thought better of it, deciding to sprawl rather exaggeratedly in his arm chair instead, pseudo-playing his violin with one hand, his pipe in the other.

No sooner had he sat had the door opened, revealing his most favourite of doctors. As a last resort, Holmes gave him his most dashing smile.

"Always good to see you, Watson."

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><p><strong>Let me know what you think :) Should have the next chapter up soon.<strong>


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